


A Mistake of Astronomical Proportions

by Nihiley_Face



Series: SFW Fics [8]
Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Anxiety, Depression, Hypothermia, Mentions of childhood abuse, Near Child Death, Other, Past Child Abuse, Suicidal Thoughts, Toms also a kid in this, but probably not, might explain why later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-24 01:20:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13202643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nihiley_Face/pseuds/Nihiley_Face
Summary: Because all good stories start with two guys and a mistake of astronomical proportions.[Or, Tord fucks up in his lab and Tom gets turned into a shy child who second guesses himself and over thinks everything. He takes something out of context and it throws the whole base off the rails.]





	A Mistake of Astronomical Proportions

**Author's Note:**

> [No idea why I wrote this. Not a single clue. And if you like this random bullshite, don't worry, because there's more of my overactive imagination coming! Just you wait.]

"Hey, mister," The small boy looks up at Patrick, his big, curious eyes falling on him so innocently. Patrick kneels before the child, prepared to answer his question. "What's a family?" He clung to the teddy bear in his left hand, dragging it on the floor wherever he went. His tattered, denim coveralls lacking a strap and hanging down his chest. His bright yellow shirt was covered in dirt and snow, his knee scraped and red with a scab. 

Patrick had been alerted of the situation at hand, but he wasn't prepared for this. He blinked. Is this kid for real? He asked himself. Then again, he was, what, five, six years old? 

Six years old and he didn't know what a family was.

Patrick furrowed his brows and thought. 

"Well," he began, looking at the expectant gaze of the small boy. "A family is a group of people you would do anything for." He wasn't quite sure how to word it. "And in return, they'd do anything for you, too. You love each other, and support each other fully, without question, even if it's hard." The child nodded, as if urging Patrick to go on. "And most importantly, family doesn't lie, and they don't hurt you." The boy was confused.

"Is my mummy family?" He asked, tilting his head. Patrick nodded. "Yeah, your mom is certainly family." He still seemed confused. "If family doesn't hurt you, and my mummy is family," He looked at the floor, and Patrick started to get a sinking feeling. He furrowed his brows. "Then why does my mum hit me?" He asked, looking back at Patrick. Patrick gulped. He didn't know what to do. 

Was he abused?

"How does she hit you?" He asked, not prepared in any way to answer these sorts of questions, but he wanted to know more about this kid, so he kept on. "Well, one time," he explained. "She hit me with a belt because I scraped my knee." He counted on his fingers, dropping the teddy bear. "And another time she hit me with a shoe when I broke a vase, and then one time she hit me with the morning paper because she didn't like my shirt." Patrick frowned. "She didn't like your shirt?" He asked. "I think it was dirty..." He trailed off. 

"Oh, sometimes she hits me and I get bloods." He scratched his face. "Bloods?" Patrick asked. "Yeah, and bloods hurt." He whined. Patrick didn't understand. She hit him until he bled? Did she leave scars? Tom went on. "And sometimes they don't get better." He acted if his wounds were sick, and healing was them getting better. "How so?" He turned around, pulling up the back of his shirt. His coveralls were a bit in the way, and Patrick had to move them, but there they were. 

Scars.

Patrick gasped. 

"Oh my God," he breathed out.

Tom was beaten until scars were left behind, and nobody knew about it? How on Earth- Did Tord know about this?

 Suddenly, Tord rounded the corner, looking rushed. He spotted Tom and Patrick, looking at the two worriedly. "What is going on?" He asked. Patrick gestured for him to come here. "Look at this." He said. Tord kneeled down behind Tom and looked at the scars. "What the hell?" He asked as he touched them. Raised welts in his skin that were never treated properly. Nasty things. Tord's brows furrowed. "What happened?" He asked, looking to Patrick almost panicked. "His mother beat him until he bled for little to no reason." Patrick looked solemn. "Disgusting." He said under his breath. 

Tom pulled his shirt down, picking up his bear. He hugged it to his chest. Tord and Patrick stood, and began to discuss it, while Tom's mind wandered off.

Disgusting? That means gross, right? Was he gross? Yeah, he was. His bloods were gross. They looked bad and gross. That man probably thought he was gross. They both probably did. His mom was right: He was dumb and ugly. His eyes were black, and everyone else had normal eyes. His eyes were ugly and gross and, what was that new word? Disgusting. He was disgusting. 

Tom wandered around the base until he managed to get outside. It was a little chilly outside and Tom didn't have a coat, but it didn't matter. Tom was gross, so no one cared. No one would like you if you're gross, and no one cared enough to give him a coat. Because he was gross.

It then dawned on him.

No one likes you if you're gross. 

Tom is gross.

No, that new word. He's disgusting. 

That means nobody loves him. 

Tom made it outside in the cold weather, and wandered into the snow, looking sad. Nobody loved him. That was okay, because he loved himself, right? If they didn't love him, then he didn't need them. It still hurt, though. 

That means his mum didn't love him.

His mum, the person who was supposed to love him more than anything.

She didn't love him.

Tom dropped Tommee bear into the snow and tears brimmed his eyes. From a dozen or so feet away, Colonel Pau caught this scene. He slowly approached the boy, kneeling down and speaking softly. "Hey, kiddo," he said, his accent gentle and smooth. Tom didn't look up. "Are you okay?" His words were carefully annunciated, so that Tom didn't misunderstand. When Tom didn't reply, Pau reached out and tried to put a hand on Tom's shoulder, to show support and to catch his attention.

Instead, the boy reeled. Jumping backwards, Tom screamed, tears now falling freely down his face. "D-don't-!" His words got caught in his throat, and he couldn't speak. Pau vaguely wonders if he did something wrong. "Tom-?" He was cut off by Tom crying out, "Don't touch me! I'm d-disgusting!" He held tightly onto his head with his right hand, wheezing and sobbing loudly. 

Pau looked around for help, and upon realizing there was none, he tried to approach Tom again. "Tom, what are you- You're not disgusting! Who said that?" Tom just shook his head and scooted backwards. He eventually stood up and ran away, crying. Pau tried to chase him, but Tom ran into the forest. It was surprisingly easy to lose a child in a bright yellow shirt in a gloomy, brown and green forest such as this one. 

Pau searched for what must have been half an hour, shouting Tom's name, promising anything he could think of: Money, candy, television, anything! He didn't know anything about children, but he knows they must have liked at least one of those things, right? 

Meanwhile, Tom's mind raced. A kilometer a minute. 

He tredged through the harsh snow, falling in the air and threatening to storm. 

He clung to his bear, his last hope for anything even remotely close to a friend in this world. 

This cruel, cruel world, who thought he was a mistake.

Maybe God thought he was a mistake.

Maybe God didn't love him because he liked a boy in school once.

Maybe God didn't love him because he liked to dance.

Maybe God didn't love him because he had a stuffed bear he talked to, and stuffed animals were for girls.

Maybe God didn't love him because he was wrong.

He would go to Hell.

Tom shuffled his numbing feet through the snow, unable to go on for much longer. 

He couldn't feel that scrape on his knee that used to sting, which could've been a good thing. Maybe God didn't hate him after all? But his lips stung and got bloods on them, and his nose stung, too. Like salt in a wound. That's what is uncle called it, once.

Or was it Jack Frost? 

He felt stupid for not knowing which. 

He couldn't feel his fingers, and had to look down at his hand several times to make sure he didn't drop Tommee.

He didn't want to lose his only semblance of a friend left.

He couldn't go on anymore, and he fell to his numb knees. He sobbed loudly while wind whistled in his blue tinted ears. "Nobody loves me!" He cried, tears falling down his cheeks and sticking to his face. He dropped Tommee, but he didn't look down. He knew he didn't need to, anymore. This was it. He wasn't moving anywhere, anymore. This was where he wpud stay forever. 

Cursed to be alone and cold for the rest of time because he was a disgusting mistake whom nobody loved. 

But you know what?

He was okay with that.

He didn't need them.

He didn't like himself, that much, but he had his best friend, Tommee with him, and that was all he needed. 

Tommee couldn't leave him like everyone else because Tommee was a stuffed bear, and stuffed bears couldn't walk away or die, like everyone else. So Tommee wouldn't ever leave him.

Tom grabbed Tommee again, gripping him as tightly as he could in his freezing, numb little hands, and pulled him tightly to his chest. More tears fell and stuck to his face, and he thought he looked stupid. His mouth went dry, and he could no longer speak to ask Tommee if he looked stupid, and that was okay. If he were to be cursed with someone forever, he was glad it would be with his best friend. 

He sadly fell onto his side, clutching the bear tightly and curling into a small ball in a patch of snow. 

He was okay because Tommee loved him.

He was okay, now, because he could leave this world.

Even if he left and went to Hell, Tommee would be there to comfort him from the demons and dogs.

He was okay, now.

And with that, Tom accepted his death as he curled up, cold and alone in an endless patch of snow on the floor of the expanse of a large forest. 

He was okay.

Pau went and got help, whole search parties going out and looking for Tom, even if it was about to storm. They didn't care. Well, Tord didn't care. He just wanted Tom back. Tom didn't deserve to due like this.

Not now, not here, not today.

No.

The soldiers, including Tord, all went searching in the forest for Tom, yelling his name, screaming for him until their throats were sore and raw. Well, that was Tord. 

All because of a stupid mistake in his lab.

Tom would die, and it'd be his fault. 

"God, dammit!" He screamed and punched a tree with the full force of his robotic arm. The tree snapped like a swig and fell over. 

Shameful tears fell from Tord's one good eye, and he turned away from any onlooking soldiers. He wouldn't let them see him like this. He was a leader, strong willed and powerful. 

He didn't think now was the time to be the strong, powerful leader. He needed to be levelheaded and calm. Being hysterical would not find Tom. He slowly breathed out through his nose, and squinted. He searched the expanse of the forest floor for a small, six year ols boy, scared out of his mind and freezing cold.

He jogged around, searching aimlessly with no evidence. 

Until.

He found a small brown thing on the ground. It was soft, and wet. Covered in the icy snow on the forest floor. Well, that was to be expected. The forest floor was covered in snow and- No, not now. He inspected the object. It looked like something from a stuffed animals

Tom had a stuffed bear with him. 

Was it missing an arm now, perhaps? 

He looked on the ground and found footprints on the floor, which might disappear completely if he didn't hurry. 

If forwards from Tord was north, then these footprints went northeast. He yelled. "I found something!" A few soldiers ran in his direction. "Footprints. Follow them." He began to move forwards.

He almost lost track of them a few times, but managed to continue on through the ice and snow. 

His boots made a crunching sound in the ice as they approached a figure on the ground. 

Tord ran to Tom, picking him up, tears brimming his eye once more. He sobbed, realizing that it was over, now. Tom was dead. 

Patrick pushed him aside, taking Tom from his arms. He checked his pulse. No! The boy lived still! He announced this. "He's alive, but barely! We need to get him warm, ASAP!" Someone gave to Patrick a blanket. Not much, but it helped. Tom was wrapped in it, and kept as warm as possible as they all rushed back to the base. Tord called off the search, having found Tom, and everyone returned to their posts. 

Pau, Patrick and Tord ran to the hospital wing. 

Immediately, he was treated for hypothermia.

His clothes were removed to make way for much warmer, dry ones, while heating pads and towels were put on he neck, chest and groin to try to heat him up. He was barely conscious, and complaining about how hot it was. He had started shivering again, which he had stopped doing a while ago, so that was a good sign, Tord guessed. 

Tom kept coughing, and shivering, while Patrick carefully gave him hot chocolate to drink, which wasn't really hot, more lukewarm, but it helped boost his energy and warm him up, so that was good. 

While Tom was given a little rest, Patrick discussed with Tord cardiopulmonary bypass, which was the action of removing the blood, warming it, and returning it to the body. Tord didn't know what to do anymore, and was scared for Tom's survival, so he signed off on the project, infuriated that he could do no more than sit back while Tom could be dying. 

When Tom woke up, he was a little cold, but much less cold than before. His tears no longer stuck to his face when he cried at the sight of Tord, apologizing over and over. And Tord just held him. They were both scared and confused, and didn't know what to do with themselves, so all they could do was keep warm. 

Tom was fed chocolate and chamomile with honey and lemon, which he enjoyed quite a bit. Tord stayed with him to make sure he was okay, and within a few days, Tom recovered nicely. 

Though, Tom was upset when his bear was lost in the battle for his life. However, when Tom mentioned it, Tord pulled out a new and improved Tommee, with the arm sewn back on. Tom brightened up and held it close to his chest, swearing on his life to never lose it again. Tord laughed and patted his head.

He vaguely wondered how such a sweet child could turn into someone like Tom? 

He figured that all he had to do was ask.

But for now, recovery.

**Author's Note:**

> [Like this bullshite? Want to know more about my obsession with brackets? Follow me on Tumblr @daddy-issues-anon.tumblr.com for more over sharing. Also, leave a req, if you like. Or not.]
> 
> [And if you didn't like it, whelp, th a t's yo ur opi n ion.]


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